Mercy
by Norelle108
Summary: Two prisoners, trapped in the brig of a pirate ship. She longs for the freedom she has never known. He longs for his Pearl. What will their journey bring? Jack/OFC. Please Read and Review.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so please be nice… but feel free to give constructive criticism! And please review :) it would mean a lot to me!**

Disclaimer: I don't own PoTC. I'm just borrowing some characters…

Chapter 1: Desperate and Hardened

The ragged hem of her once well-made dress clung to her ankles, soaked with the rank bilge water that pooled on the floor of the cell. Mercy Taylor shivered slightly, for no warm Caribbean sunlight found its way into the damp, dark belly of the pirate ship _Zephyr_.

In the dim light provided by a single lantern, Mercy could barely make out the chains that bound her feet to the floor, but she could feel the pinch of the cold metal on her ankles, a constant reminder of her predicament. Miserably, Mercy contemplated her bleak situation. When would they bring her some food? How long would they keep her here? Loud voices and the sounds of a struggle woke Mercy from her stupor, and she raised her head to examine the hatch at the top of the ladder, down the hall from her cell.

Light briefly illuminated the girl's face, as the hatch above the ladder was wrenched open, and what appeared to be a body was kicked down from above. Two men followed, descending the ladder into the muck. One reached for a key, opening Mercy's cell door, while the other dragged the body from the floor, and tossed it like a sack of potatoes into the filth.

"'Ello, doll. We brought ye a playmate." The burly pirate addressed Mercy, giving her a blast of his foul breath and a rather nauseating view of his rotten teeth. He added with a dark chuckle, "'E be in a bad way, so don't be too rough on 'im. 'E's got valuable information that we be needin'."

As the men retreated, Mercy cautiously approached the body on the floor. Kneeling as well as she could manage within the constraints of her chains, she examined the man on the floor. She noted with relief the shallow rise and fall of his chest, but the pirate wasn't lying when he said that this man was in bad condition. Even in the poor light, she could tell that his white shirt was stained dark in several places with blood, and he sported a great gash on his forehead, in addition to a brilliant bruise across his cheek.

As she studied him, the man groaned, softly, and his face tightened with pain. Reaching down to her ankles, Mercy ripped a large strip from the shift she wore under her dress, then tied it tightly around the wound on his forehead to stop the bleeding. She lifted him as well as she could from the floor, on to the bench along the back of the cell. Dragging him up, she noted the blood soaking through his shirt. Once she got him into a more-or-less comfortable position, she undid the buttons on his torn shirt, carefully removing it to examine the damage it concealed.

Though this man was a complete stranger to her, Mercy winced at the bruising on his torso. His sides looked as though they'd been kicked repeatedly, and she would wager that he had more than a few broken ribs. The blood on his shirt was seeping from a bullet wound in his side, where it appeared a shell had entered in the front and passed through his back.

As she fixed him up the best she could, Mercy took time to examine her cellmate. He appeared to be young, no more than thirty, and though he was marred by injuries, she could tell he was very good-looking. His appearance was very eccentric, and Mercy wondered if he was a pirate, for no run-of-the-mill sailor she knew of had trinkets woven into his dreadlocks. She rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to check his wrist, which confirmed her suspicions. _A pirate._

Mercy wondered why he had been thrown into the brig. Was he a mutineer? Did he argue with the captain? Was he a rival pirate? The man remained unconscious. Frustrating Mercy's curiosity. At any rate, he was badly injured, and he required what little help she could provide, imprisoned in the brig of a ship.

Having done what she could for the pirate, Mercy leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, again contemplating her situation. Perhaps this man could help her escape. Preferably sooner rather than later, because she didn't really want to wait around to see what her fate aboard the pirate ship was to be.

Several minutes passed (or hours—it is difficult to judge time when the only available diversions are self-reflection and counting the bilge-rats that scurry by) before Mercy heard the man begin to stir.

* * *

The first thing Jack felt was the burning pain in his side. He reached down to touch the makeshift bandage around his torso, and vaguely recalled the sound of gunfire, and the white-hot pain that followed. He tried to sit up, which only caused him to let out an involuntary groan of pain, so he settled for simply lifting his head to look around. The lack of adequate light and the smell of bilge water confirmed that he was imprisoned in the belly of a ship.

"I was wondering when you'd grace me with your presence."

Jack gave a slight start as a soft voice interrupted his reflection. He turned slightly to face the source of the voice, making out the shape of a female speaker in the corner of the cell. He squinted his eyes, trying to adjust to the dim light to make out her features.

"'Ello, love. I didn' see ye there. Captain Jack Sparrow at your service. And your name be?"

"Mercy." Her response was short and direct, offering him little insight.

"And what brings ye to the fine hospitality of a pirate ship, Mercy?"

"The ship I was traveling on was attacked by the _Zephyr_. I'm being held for ransom. What brings you to this cell, Captain Sparrow?" Though soft, her voice contained an edge that indicated to Jack that she had no desire to offer any more information.

"Me? I was just innocently enjoyin' a bottle o' rum at the pub, when all of a sudden, I found meself hit over the head and dragged to this lovely ship."

"You're a pirate." Her accusation left little room for question.

"Aye, but a pirate _captain_. Afraid, love?"

"You've a bullet wound in your side, several broken ribs, and a great bloody head wound. You can barely sit up. So, no, I'm not afraid of you."

Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the hatch. Jack slumped over, appearing unconscious once more, though he kept one eye slightly open. The same burly pirate who had delivered Jack's body to the brig approached the cell, bearing a tray. He unlocked a grate at the bottom of the cell's door, sliding the tray under, and giving Mercy a lecherous grin. "Eat up. If ye're lucky, ye can finish it before 'e wakes up." He winked at her, departing.

Jack gathered his energy, making himself sit up, and suppressed a groan. "Ladies first," he said, nodding toward the tray. It contained a bowl of gruel and two pieces of hardtack, as well as a cup of some sort of beverage.

"Excellent ploy. If it's poisoned, I'll be the one to fall victim." She appeared not to care, however, as she knelt to grab the tray anyways.

"They won't poison it. 'ey need information from me, and if you're to be ransomed, theys needs you alive, savvy?" Jack pointed out. He re-assessed his cellmate. Mercy seemed less naïve than he originally thought, though from her voice, he guessed she was about seventeen or eighteen.

Mercy ate a few bites of gruel and one biscuit, chasing it with a swig from the cup. She assed the tray to Jack, saying, "I can't eat any more. You take it."

Jack met her gaze, taking the tray. "Much thanks, love." His ribs protested as he chewed and swallowed. To take his mind off the pain, Jack attempted to converse with his quiet cellmate.

"I suppose it's you I have to thank for the bandages."

She gave a small nod of assent.

"Much thanks for that as well, love." She shrugged slightly, giving no other response to his words. Jack studied her again. Who was she? Was she noble? That the pirates were demanding a ransom for her return indicated that she came from wealth. She spoke with an educated accent, definitely originating in England. Jack could discern nothing from her clothing, or what he could see of it in the poor light, for while it might have once been well-made, it was certainly in shreds now.

Finished with the meal, Jack set the tray on the floor. He took one last swig from the cup. "Weak ale," he announced, "is never a proper substitute for good Caribbean rum." With that, he stretched himself out on the bench, and closed his eyes, contemplating his situation until he dozed off.

* * *

Mercy actually could have eaten much more. After taking a few bites, she passed her tray to the pirate, reasoning that he was injured and therefore in greater need of nourishment. As he ate, she felt his gaze pass over her. She avoided his gaze, opting to count the floorboards of the cell. When he dozed off, Mercy returned to plotting her escape. Perhaps this Captain Sparrow would be an asset to her plan.

Eventually, boredom and the motion of the ship overcame her, and Mercy too surrendered to sleep's beckon.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Review, pretty please!! Let me know what you think, and if I should continue this…**


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: A big huge THANK-YOU to everyone who reviewed. I'm so flattered that people are actually reading and liking (I hope!!) this story. And a huge apology for the delay in getting this chapter up. I was rather naïve, and at first I'd hoped to post every day, or every week. It hasn't quite worked out, though, as life has a tendency of getting in the way…

If you're still following this story--- please review because they are my motivations!

And now Chapter 2!

Chapter 2: Twice Blest

Morning was not kind to Mercy. Her neck and back protested loudly against the cramped position she had slept in, and hunger pains pierced her empty stomach. She glanced over at the cell's other occupant, still sound asleep and snoring gently.

Mercy contemplated the enigmatic Captain Sparrow. Though he was a pirate, Mercy got the feeling he was not a ruthless or cruel man. Her common sense warned her against placing to much faith in his morality, however. _Never trust a pirate._

As if aware of the direction of her thoughts, the aforementioned pirate awoke with a few sleepy blinks. He met her assessing gaze with a charming smile. "G'morning, dearie. Lovely day, isn't it?"

"It's rather difficult to ascertain that from below decks. But I'm afraid it won't be lovely at all. The pirate who delivered our meal said the captain would be down shortly."

"Ah. Lovely man. Put a bullet through my side." He winced a bit at the thought, unconsciously touching Mercy's makeshift bandage.

As if in response to their conversation, the hatch opened and a beam of light partially illuminated the cell. A pair of pirates descended, followed by a man Mercy knew from previous encounters to be Captain Ezekiel Cooke. Tall and fair, the Captain formed a rather imposing shape, thick-necked and beefy. Mercy let her eyes wander idly over his rum-stained doublet and scruffy blond beard, finally meeting his watery eyes, illuminated by the sunlight streaming in the open hatch. She was not intimidated by this pirate. For the moment, her life had value to him, so she was safe.

Captain Cooke addressed her. "Miss Taylor. Enjoying our stay, are we? I've even been so gracious as to provide a companion to help pass the time."

Mercy gave no response, but met his gaze solidly.

"You'll be pleased to know that I've sent yer ransom note to yer father. A lovely young lady such as yerself must be any father's pride and joy. I've no doubt ol' Bartholomew Taylor'll pay up. As for you, Jack Sparro', yer're certainly a thorn in mi' side. Ready to tell me about tha' map yet?"

"Nay, not just yet," Jack replied cheerfully. "Perhaps you should shoot me again."

"Watch it, Sparrow. I may take you up on that." Captain Cooke fingered his pistol tenderly. "But I've a pillagin' ter plan." He gave a low chuckle, then abruptly took his leave, the other pirates following.

Once the hold was empty, Jack adjusted his position to face Mercy. "So, it's Miss Taylor, eh?"

"I would prefer if you didn't address me by that name."

"What would you have me call you then, love?"

"Mercy, just Mercy, please."

"So Captain Cooke's looking to obtain a large sum of royalties from your ransom, eh, Mercy?"

"Yes. We need to escape before that happens." Mercy met his eyes, searching for some indication of his assent.

"I thought you were to be ransomed, lass. Don't you want to return safe and sound to your family? Escaping won't do much towards that end."

Mercy averted her gaze, studying her hands intently. "I'm fairly confident that my ransom will go unpaid," she ventured, "and I don't want to find out what happens when I'm no longer useful as a potential source of profit for Captain Cooke."

Her statement raised more than a few questions for Jack, but he knew when to drop a subject. "Well then, love, I guess we'll just have to find a way out o'here, savvy?"

He focused on the cell's door for a moment. "Now if only I had a lock pick, that'd really be something"

"Would this do?" Mercy offered a thin, bent piece of metal for Jack's inspection.

"Where did you get that?" he wondered, his gaze moving from the scrap of metal to meet her eyes.

"It was part of my corset," she admitted, with a look that defied him to inquire as too the fate of said garment.

"Perhaps I ought to re-evaluate the merits of fine ladies undergarments." Jack took the lock pick from Mercy, and examined their cell door. After a few moments of manipulation, he faced Mercy again.

"I can get us out of this cell. But we'll have to time it right."

"What do you mean?" Mercy asked.

"We'll want to wait until this ship makes berth, elsewise we'll not be havin' anywhere to escape to except Davy Jones' locker, savvy?"

Mercy nodded her assent, then once more withdrew to her own reflection.

Ever alert, Jack kept one eye open and one ear cocked, even as he lounged on the wooden bench. No one descended the ladder into the hold for the rest of the day, so the two prisoners felt the ever-biting gnaw of hunger with no respite. Hours passed, until Jack finally sat up with a start. "It's time, love," he declared definitively.

Mercy had been dozing, and she quickly roused herself as Jack began to pick the lock. "How do you know we'll be able to escape undetected?"

Jack chuckled at her lack of faith in his abilities. "Ah, love, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. I always know an opportunity—the feeling sets in me very bones."

Mercy clearly still had doubts, but she held her tongue as Jack sprung the lock. "Now, love, it's night, and the ship's anchored at sea. We must be quiet as the devil 'imself. We'll make our way to the Cap'n's cabin and retrieve me effects, then commandeer a boat to take us away from this abominable ship. Savvy?"

"Your effects? Surely we can forgo your personal belongings in favor of a less dangerous escape? And you've forgotten just one thing, Captain Sparrow." She clanked her shackles in a demonstrative way.

"Ah yes, of course." Jack knelt to pick the chains that bound her ankles. "And as to my possessions, I'd rather not do without my sword and pistol, and we'll get nowhere without a compass. So nay, we'll not forgo that part of the plan."

Mercy straightened her shirts in an attempt at maintaining modesty, and Jack felt sure that if he could see her in the darkness, she would be blushing furiously. He took perhaps longer than was necessary to undo the ankle chains, until finally they broke free. Finished, he returned to the cell door, and after applying some well-placed pressure, the pair was free.

"Follow me when I say it's clear," Jack directed when they reached the ladder.

Mercy nodded, but she privately questioned his ability to ward off an attack. After all, the man still had a bullet in his side, protected only by a makeshift bandage of fabric. The injury didn't seem to impede him, however, as he climbed the ladder rather nimbly, calling down to her when he saw the guard drunkenly slumbering.

The night was cool, and Jack inhaled the salty smell of the open sea that he had so sorely missed, locked below-decks in the rank hold. He easily navigated his way towards the captains quarters, privately commending his fine sense of timing, as it appeared that most of the crew was ashore, conducting a raid in the dead of night. Jack checked every few moments to make sure his quiet companion was still behind him, and he was thankful that she had the sense not to ask too many questions as he navigated covertly about the vessel.

Once inside Cooke's cabin, Jack began searching for his effects. Opening a large chest he gave a silent shout of elation at the discovery of his hat, pistol, sword, compass, powder, and flask intact and undisturbed.

As Jack rifled about for his things, Mercy examined a map laid out on the captain's desk. She memorized the location of the ship, pinned on the map in the Turks Island Passage. As Jack approached the desk with his recovered articles, Mercy ceded the seat and ventured a pass around the cabin. To her surprise, her trunk lay stashed in the corner. She considered simply leaving it be, but upon a moments reflection, decided it would be prudent to change her ragged dress.

"I'll just be a moment, Captain Sparrow. I've found my trunk." She opened it, locating her most serviceable and plain dress, and ducked behind a curtain to change, praying that Jack wouldn't peek. She tied a purse over her shift, and tucked in a few papers from the trunk. Then she donned the dress and adjusted a locket around her neck.

"Ready, love?" Jack asked.

Mercy nodded, after tucking the ruined dress back into the bottom of her trunk, closing it tightly.

"Right, then, we'll be going." As they exited, Jack pinched a few coins from the captain's purse and slipped them into his pocket.

"Will we be commandeering a dingy?" Mercy couldn't help asking.

"Aye. If at all possible." He led them about the deck, knowing his way by intuition.

As they approached the quarter deck, they saw a small group of pirates assembled, blocking access to the dingy. Hiding in the shadow of a large barrel, Jack whispered, "Alright, love. My apologies. Change of plans. Can you swim?"

Taken by surprise, Mercy responded, "Well… yes, a bit." 

"Excellent. There's a ladder over the railing about six feet behind us. You're to sneak over there and climb down it, and slip into the ocean silent as the grave. Savvy? I'll be right behind you."

Obediently, Mercy moved towards the ladder, cautiously swinging her legs over the side of the rail. She lowered herself out of view of the pirates, quietly slipping into the chilly water. As the seawater permeated her clean dress, she ruefully regretted even bothering to change it. A few moments later, Jack joined her, carefully lowering himself into the sea.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note:

All right, readers. I don't deserve you. I can't even believe how long I've left this story since updating. I've just been so busy… I have about 50 million excuses that I won't bore you with… but again I apologize.

Thank you so much for reading, and please leave me a review to let me know how I'm doing.

One more note: This story is set after the third film. Just thought I'd give you some context.

And now, the story…

Chapter 3: Adrift

Jack swam easily through the water, just barely visible in the almost-full moonlight. He seemed to know where he was going, and Mercy followed as best she could. In truth, her swimming skills were rudimentary at best. The ability to swim was not something a wealthy merchant's daughter had much need of, so the little she had learned was taught surreptitiously.

Her brothers and their friends used to swim in the creek near her family's country estate, and one day, they dared her to join them. Mercy had never been a rebellious child, so it took much cajoling and taunting to get her into the water, where she learned the basics of swimming.

The gentle creek was a far cry from the rolling sea. Mercy found it difficult just to move her arms and legs in the unfamiliar manner, but she gritted her teeth and kept trying. She would not admit her weakness to the pirate who had, rather considerately, basically rescued her. And, after all, if _he_ could swim so easily with a bullet wound in his side, and his body just recovering from a beating, _she_ certainly could make it with no complaints other than a stiff back and an empty stomach.

By the time they reached shore, Mercy was barely conscious. Her arms felt as though they were not even attached to her body, and her legs trembled beneath her, as she and Jack crawled their way onto a sandy beach. The cool air of the dawn chilled Mercy's wet skin and hair, for the sun was just beginning to rise in the east. Mercy felt disoriented after the sleepless night, and her surroundings barely registered with her. In front of her, Jack dragged himself across the sand, and collapsed in a heap, muttering about a nap. The sand looked a lot more comfortable then a hard bench in a brig prison, so a little rest looked pretty attractive. Mercy, too, collapsed on the sand, a few feet away from Jack. Within moments, she had drifted off into slumber.

The sun was hot on her face when she awoke. She blinked heavily, confused. As she sat up, she discovered that her shift and gown were stiff with salt. At least they were dry, she though to herself. The swim through the sea did have the effect of washing the muck and scum from her body, though it came at the price of wickedly sore muscles unused to the physical exertion of swimming. Mercy brushed the sand off of her dress and shook out her hair, which had also dried. It was so tangled, though; she probably looked like a vagrant. Well, actually, I am a vagrant now, she thought with dry amusement.

Once her eyes adjusted to the sun, Mercy examined her surroundings. She faced the azure ocean, sparkling so invitingly. There was no sign of the pitch-black, endless and rolling terror of the night before. A snore to her left alerted Mercy that she was not alone. Jack's arms flailed wildly in slumber, and she examined him with curiosity. She had half-expected him to slip away before she woke, disappearing into the sunrise. She saw him now, though, for the first time in daylight. His appearance was exceedingly eccentric, though he was rather handsome, in a wild sort of way. The gash on his head appeared to have scabbed over, and her makeshift bandage was nowhere to be seen.

Jack drifted slowly out of sleep, aware that he was being watched. He opened one eye just a crack, then blinked lazily, stretched, and returned the gaze of his companion. Mercy blushed, aware that she'd been caught staring, and averted her eyes to her lap, staying silent. Jack took the opportunity to observe his companion. Mercy was a pretty girl, with wide gray eyes set in a round, pale face. Her hair was a comely light shade of red, though it seemed rather matted from the salt and sand.

"Good morning, love. Enjoyin' the view?"

She was, indeed, but Mercy would hardly admit to it. She responded by changing the topic, asking, "Are you alright, Captain Sparrow? You've a few nasty wounds."

"Aye, right as rain. Though my stomach could use a spot of rum. You wouldn't happen to have any of that hidden about you, eh love?"

She shook her head, but indicated a grove of coconut trees. "No, but I believe those coconuts could provide some sort of sustenance."

"Ah, that'll have to do. Seems a right shame we have no rum to toast to out freedom, though."

Half an hour later, fortified by coconuts, the pair trekked across the spit of land they had arrived upon. Mercy followed Jack's lead, as he seemed to move with a purpose. Finally, after a bit of walking in silence she asked, "Where are we headed?"

"Well, love, this island I believe is a salt cay. Bermudians come annually to harvest salt. And my guess is that they probably stow rafts here, or some sort of vessel that we can… borrow… to make our way to a port, savvy?"

She ducked her head in a nod.

"Well, Mercy-girl, how about a story, eh love?"

"A story, Captain Sparrow?"

"I provide the transportation, you provide the entertainment, savvy? So, sing, dance, tell a story, you can pick. There are other ways of entertaining that involve a bit less clothing, too, but I'll leave that to your discretion, love."

Mercy blushed a bit, and cast her mind around for a story, thinking back to her childhood.

"Alright, then, I'll do my best. My mother told me this story once. She was Dutch… I'll try to remember how it goes…"

Mercy began to narrate. She told a tale of a rich and greedy widow, whose desire for wealth destroyed a great port city. She was surprisingly rather good at storytelling, and though the plot was not intriguing, Jack found himself held by her voice, melodious and sweet.

At the end, he applauded. "Interesting story. You've a gift for tha…."

He stopped abruptly, and Mercy came to a halt beside him.

"This looks promising," Jack declared. Mercy glanced about, unsure of what he found promising. They were still just walking on the beach.

"Wait here," he directed. Obediently, she sat, gazing out into the azure waters of the Caribbean. A few minutes later, she heard a distinct splash.

Jack stood knee-deep in the water, floating a simple raft beside him. He flashed her a smile, and she returned the gesture, genuinely pleased at the turn of events.

They set out shortly, Jack paddling with one worn oar. Between strokes, he started a conversation.

"So, Mercy- tell me about yourself."

"Not much to tell, really. My life has been… rather dull."

"Indulge a man. Go on."

Mercy stared at the horizon over Jack's shoulder as she spoke. She delivered her life's story in the same tone as the tale she told earlier. "There was once a lovely Dutch woman, the daughter of a rich captain. She met a young British merchant living in Holland, and they fell in love. They married and returned to London, where they had seven children together. He was a shrewd businessman, and his profits grew until he became one of the most successful merchants in the British Empire. She died in childbirth with their eighth child. Overnight, it seemed, he went from shrewd and resourceful to cruel and greedy."

After a pause, Jack realized she had finished. Not satisfied, he asked, "That's all? How'd the likes of you end up in the brig of a pirate ship?"

"My father was looking for a strategic alliance. I was traveling to meet a potential fiancée, on the way to his post in the Caribbean. Our ship was attacked by Captain Cooke—he wanted me to ransom for a particularly valuable commodity of my father's."

"Ah. And why is it you didn't expect that ransom to go through, love?"

Mercy was silent for a moment, and Jack thought perhaps he had pushed to far. Finally she ventured, "I was the fifth child, and when I came there were already two girls ahead of me, in addition to my oldest brothers. He has five daughters in total. I'm expendable, in essence. My sister Katherine is 15, almost old enough to marry off to whomever he wants to ally himself with. All my father's love for us dried up with the death of my mother. I'm especially far from whatever heart he may have hiding because I resemble my mother the least. And the ransom Cooke demanded was a price my father would never pay."

"Mmm…" Jack made a low murmur of assent.

They traveled in companionable silence for a while, as the Caribbean sun beat down upon them. Mercy attempted to shade her face, feeling her fair skin burning, unused to the intensity of the sun. After a time, Mercy realized the unfairness of the situation.

"Would you like me to paddle for a bit so you can take a break?" she asked, genuinely concerned for Jack's wellbeing.

"Aye, love, I could use a nap. Know where we be headed?"

She indicted her cluelessness, and Jack flashed a grin.

"See that dot in the distance?"

Mercy looked hard in the direction he pointed. "No… I don't see anything, sorry…"

He sighed. "There, love. There. On that horizon. A big dot-like dot. Big and black, savvy?"

She saw nothing. "Yes… that dot over there. So I just paddle towards that?"

He looked at her in disbelief. "Towards it? Does that look like where we're headed, love? Haven't you noticed anything about where we've been navigating? Steer 22 degrees northwest from that dot and we'll hit a port."

"Mmmm." Mercy gave neither consent nor disagreement. Evidently satisfied that she would handle the raft well enough, Jack leaned back, stretched his legs out, and placed his hands behind his head. Soon he was breathing deeply in slumber.

Mercy rowed, hoping she was aimed more or less in the direction Jack had indicated. The rhythm of the oar gave her a certain sense of peace, curbing her anxiety over the fact that she was alone in the world, lost, with a pirate of questionable intentions as her only companion.

When Jack awoke from his nap, the sun was much lower in the sky, and Mercy was still paddling. Clearly she was exhausted. "That's enough, love, take a rest. We'll be there soon. Hopefully we can find ourselves a bite to eat in port, eh? And a spot of rum to boot…"

She gave him a small smile. _Never trust a pirate_. She knew that it was good advice. But she owed this pirate her life, and right now he was the only person between her and a world of uncertainty.

Review, review, review! You know you want to…


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